


Grey

by anthonyedwardstark



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aging, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Going Grey, Husbands, M/M, Married Sex, Not-So-Married Sex, Old Married Couple, PWP, grey hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthonyedwardstark/pseuds/anthonyedwardstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is at that exact moment that John notices a few grey hairs at Sherlock’s temples.</p>
<p>It's unexpectedly hot. Very hot.</p>
<p>Without conscious thought, John bucks his hips. Sherlock’s eyes go wide and he squeaks which John finds nearly as hot as the greying temples. They make eye contact and John gives him a slightly predatory grin.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Tumblr](http://anthonyedwardstark.tumblr.com/).

Sherlock is sulking. With his pressed lips and his crossed arms, it’s hardly deniable. He hasn’t said a word all day, only brooded on the couch. John has no clue as to the reason.

Honestly, Sherlock hasn’t been in a mood like this for years. He has mellowed quite a bit with age. (Privately, John likes to think that the changes began once he and Sherlock got together. Things only improved after their marriage.)

So when Sherlock announces that he is doing the shopping, it is even more of a shock than it usually would have been. John always does the shopping and Sherlock has not moved from the couch in nearly 13 hours. He also has not done the shopping in 13 years. Now, Sherlock is voluntarily doing both?

John may not have Sherlock’s deductive prowess, but even he could not miss the signs that something unusual is going on.

John doesn’t complain, though, because his shoulder is aching from the cold and he’s excited to see what sort of things Sherlock thinks are enough to sustain them for several day.

When Sherlock comes back an hour later, John unpacks the groceries in the kitchen and puts them away. Sherlock takes the bag of toiletries to the bathroom and then returns to help John put the groceries up. Sherlock makes sure to put away the groceries that belong on the higher shelves so that John doesn’t overextend his shoulder.

Once they’re finished putting the groceries away, John stands behind Sherlock. He wraps his arms around Sherlock’s waist and places a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“I love you,” he says, the words muffled by Sherlock’s shirt.

Sherlock turns in John’s grasp and places his hands on John’s upper arms. He sweeps his thumbs across John’s biceps.

“Sex tonight?” Sherlock asks.

John smiles, “Love to.”

He smiles back and places a kiss on John’s lips.

“Ethiopian for dinner, love?” John asks.

“Fine. Atkilt wat with injera for me.”

“I’ll order it now.”

* * *

 

After dinner, John cleans off the table and puts away the leftover food while Sherlock excuses himself to the bathroom to prepare himself. John hums to himself as he cleans. He’s quite pleased with the way his day has turned out. It was an easy day at the surgery (a three-hour shift that he spent mostly assuring nervous mothers that their children were perfectly healthy), Sherlock is out of his black mood, and now he’s going to get laid. Some comfortable, Wednesday night sex sounds like exactly the way he wants to end his day. 

John hears the shower turn off just as he walks into their bedroom. He undresses and lays down on the bed. The bathroom door opens and Sherlock steps out, erect and nude, with the lube in his hand, having prepared himself in the shower.

“Bring a towel out, would you, love? I just washed the sheets the other day and I’m not in the mood to do the washing,” John called.

Sherlock grabs a towel from the rack and throws it to John who lays it across the bed and settles back on top of it.

"Your shoulder is aching," Sherlock observes while making his way over to the bed.

"Yes. It's this bloody weather. Cold and rainy. Always makes my shoulder stiffen up."

"I know. You can be on your back then. I'll be on top."

"Sounds lovely. Let you do all the work this time," John grins.

Sherlock mock-glares at him as he strokes John's thickening cock, slicking it with lube. He throws one leg over John and straddles his waist. He reaches behind himself to grab John's shaft and guides it to his stretched hole. He slowly sinks down John's cock until he bottoms out and his arse rests against the top of John's thighs.

Sherlock starts slowly riding John. John rolls his hips while Sherlock undulates over him. Sherlock lets out a few soft hums and sighs of pleasure while he sways on top of John.

After a few minutes of their comfortable lovemaking, John makes Sherlock stop riding him for a moment because there's an uncomfortable lump of sheets underneath his back. He shuffles the sheets and rubs more lube onto his cock.

Sherlock throws his leg back over John’s hips and grabs John’s cock. He guides it back into himself and John put his hands on Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock places his hands on John’s chest and starts to gently ride him again. After a particularly good angle, Sherlock releases a quiet whimper.

It is at that moment that John first notices a few grey hairs at Sherlock’s temples.

It is unexpectedly hot.

Without conscious thought, John bucks his hips. Sherlock’s eyes go wide and he squeaks which John finds nearly as hot as the greying temples. They make eye contact and John gives a slightly predatory grin.

He tightens his grip on Sherlock’s hips and pulls him downward while he thrusts up. Sherlock lets out a long moan and arches his neck. They pause for a moment before John drops his hips back to the mattress, puts his feet flat on the bed, and drives back into Sherlock. Sherlock wails and digs his fingers into John’s chest reflexively. John grunts and shoves into him again.

They set a new rhythm, a much more frantic pace than before. Sherlock is writhing and squirming on top of John, his hands tangled in his own hair, pulling it while John fucks into him. Sherlock’s keening makes John buck even harder. But John can already feel his shoulder start to twinge.

“Sherlock,” John moans.

Sherlock’s eyes flutter open and he looks down at John.

“I can’t keep this up for much longer. My shoulder… I can’t get the leverage without… Uhh… Oh, god… without ruining my shoulder.”

Sherlock, too worked up to speak, merely nods. He pulls his hands out of his hair and leans forward to solidly grip the headboard, his knuckles whitening. He maintains eye contact while he grinds his hips down against John. He throws his head back while he starts to frantically bounce on his husband’s cock.

“Oh, Christ, Sherlock!” John cries as he wraps his arms around Sherlock’s back, raking his fingers downward, clawing marks onto his skin.

Sherlock groans and fucks himself even more desperately, biting into his own bottom lip.

John’s right hand grips Sherlock’s hip firmly and he brings his left hand between them to pull Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock’s rhythm falters and he clenches tightly around John.

“Oh, you’re perfect, Sherlock! Oh, fuck! Come on, love! Come! Please!” John pleads, bucking his hips upward and pulling faster on Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock whines softly and then freezes. His head drops back and his mouth falls open.

“John!” he moans as he comes in John’s hand, semen landing on his own stomach and dripping down John’s fingers.

“Jesus, Sherlock! I’m so close! Can I keep going? Please! I need it. I’m so close!” John begs under his lover.

Sherlock nods his head, overwhelmed. John resumes thrusting into Sherlock.

“Oh! I’m so close, love! You’re wonderful! You feel so good, Sherlock!” he cries.

After a few more thrusts, he comes, pulsing inside his lover.

“Sherlock!”

John’s hips fall back to the bed. Sherlock puts his forehead to John’s shoulder and presses a kiss to the exit wound there. They’re both breathing heavily, chests heaving.

John huffs out a chuckle. Sherlock snorts into John’s neck with a half-grin on his face, still leaning over him.

“Well, then,” John says, slightly dazed by the wild, unexpectedly fantastic sex they’d just had.

Sherlock hums in response. John runs his palms up and down Sherlock’s damp back a few times. He shifts slightly on the mattress and his cock slips out of Sherlock. Sherlock winces and grunts in discomfort.

John gives Sherlock’s arse a gentle squeeze and says “Off you get,” while extracting himself from beneath his husband. Sherlock tightens his grip on John’s shoulder to keep him from getting up.

“I’ll be right back, I promise, love. I’m just going to wet a flannel to clean you up. It’ll just be a mo.”

Sherlock grumbles but allows him to get out of bed.

John enters the bathroom and relieves himself. He grabs a flannel from the rack and wets it in the sink, then uses it to wipe off his cock and stomach. He turns to the sink to rewet the flannel, when he sees the grocery bag Sherlock brought into the bathroom earlier. He peeks inside the bag and sees a black hair dying kit.

* * *

 

When John walks back into the bedroom, Sherlock is lying face-down on the mattress, lightly dozing. John straddles Sherlock’s legs and stares at his lover’s fantastic arse, then shakes his head.

“How on Earth is your 47 year old arse still this pert? Hmm?” he asks as he grips and massages the cheeks.

“Dunno,” Sherlock mumbles into the pillow.

John laughs just a little. He pulls Sherlock’s cheeks apart and looks at his reddened hole which is still twitching and quivering. A bit of John’s come is leaking out and dripping down Sherlock balls. It looks lovely. John can’t resist wriggling a finger back inside and tugging a bit at the rim. Sherlock’s nose scrunches up and he grouses.

“All right, fine. I’ll leave your marvelous arse alone,” John says as he pulls his finger out and wipes it on the flannel. Then, he wipes the flannel between Sherlock’s cheeks and down Sherlock’s balls several times, cleaning him up.

“Okay, roll over now,” he tells Sherlock.

Sherlock flops over onto his back. John wipes the come off Sherlock’s stomach, then pulls the dirty towel out from under the man. He throws both the towel and the flannel in the laundry basket.

John climbs back into bed and turns off the bedside lamp.

Sherlock rolls over and tucks himself under John’s right arm, resting his head on John’s chest and his hand on John’s stomach. John pulls the sheet up to their waists.

“I found your hair dye in the bathroom.”

Sherlock sighs and mumbles, “Tomorrow, John. Sleeping.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

John wakes up several hours later. Shockingly, Sherlock is still asleep. John looks down at the man sleeping against his chest. He brings up a hand to comb it through Sherlock’s hair. He runs his index finger against the greying hair at Sherlock’s temples and bites his own lip while he wraps a few locks of it around his finger. His cock thickens with interest.

He gently rolls Sherlock onto his back and stares at his beautiful lover for a moment. He lightly traces the lines of Sherlock’s crow’s feet and then runs his finger across the furrows and shallow lines on Sherlock’s forehead. John leans over him and presses gentle kisses against his clavicle and down his sternum. Sherlock starts to grumble into awareness. John kisses back up his chest and moves to his long neck. Sherlock hums and languidly places his hand on the back of John’s head.

“Th’s nice,” he slurs.

John takes a gentle nip at Sherlock’s neck and kisses down his chest and stomach. He rubs his cheek against Sherlock’s soft stomach.

“You’re prickly,” Sherlock garbles, still not fully awake.

“Hmm. I expect so. Haven’t shaved since yesterday morning,” he answers, kissing around Sherlock’s navel.

“Mmm… What time is it?” Sherlock asks.

John looks over at the bedside table and answers, “3:20,” before returning to kissing and nipping at Sherlock’s stomach.

“Ugh. Why are you awake?” Sherlock huffs.

John looks up Sherlock’s body and then licks the length of Sherlock’s soft cock.

Sherlock takes a sharp breath and clenches his fists into the bed sheets.

“Oh,” he says faintly.

“Shall I stop?” John asks with a hand wrapped around Sherlock’s thickening cock.

“Definitely not,” Sherlock says, shifting his hips.

John continues stroking Sherlock’s cock into hardness. He wraps his lips around the head and trails his fingers up and down the shaft the way he knows Sherlock loves.

Sherlock moans, “God, John. That’s perfect.”

He drops his legs further apart, giving John more room to comfortably lay.

John takes more of his cock into his mouth, swiping his tongue along the underside just the way his husband likes.

Sherlock moans loudly and his hips twitch up into John’s mouth. John smacks his hip with his hand and gently drags his teeth along Sherlock’s cock in punishment.

“Mmm, sorry.”

John hums.

Sherlock brings one of his hands and rests it on the back of John’s head. He gently combs John’s hair with his fingers as he bites his lips.

“You’re so good at this, John. You were made for this. You do it just right,” Sherlock moans after a particularly wonderful flick of John’s tongue.

He looks down at the erotic sight of John’s mouth and chin covered in spit with his cock disappearing between John’s lips. He moans loudly and drops his head back against the pillow.

John continues to suck and lick at his cock until Sherlock’s chest is heaving and his muscles begin to tighten.

He groans and comes into John’s mouth. John swallows expertly to avoid the mess.

John wipes his spit-cover face across his forearm and crawls back along Sherlock’s body to press a gentle, chaste, closed-mouth kiss to his lips.

Sherlock, dazed and exhausted, responds late, after John has already pulled away and ends up kissing the air.

“Should I do you now?” he asks as his eyes drop shut.

John quietly laughs, “No, you ridiculous man. Go to sleep.”

“Okay,” he murmurs as he tucks himself under John’s arm and wraps his own arm around John’s waist.

“Twice in one night, John? Don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Sherlock mumbles against his chest.

John just hums in reply and they both fall back asleep.

* * *

 

“So… I noticed that you bought some hair dye,” John announces at breakfast the next morning as he butters his toast (in the literal sense of the word, of course).

Sherlock huffs and say, “Must we, John?”

“Yes, I think we must.”

Sherlock throws himself on the couch dramatically.

“Is that why you were in such a mood yesterday? You noticed some grey hairs?”

Sherlock sniffs in answer.

“Sherlock, you’re 47 years old. Most men your age are already completely grey. Hell, Sherlock, I’ve got a little bald spot on the top of my head to go with my greys. It isn’t anything to worry about, love.”

Sherlock gives no reply. John just sighs and opens the newspaper, recognizing that Sherlock will not be participating in the conversation. They sit in silence for 15 minutes.

“I look hideous.”

John’s jaw drops.

“Pardon? I think I misheard you.”

Sherlock huffs and says, “I. Look. Hideous.”

John struggles for words and “What?” is all he manages to ask.

“The grey hair. It makes me look old,” Sherlock says, refusing to meet John’s eyes.

“Are you kidding?” John asks with wide eyes.

Insulted by John’s dismissal, Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns over to face the back of the couch, presenting his back to John.

“Oh, you know I didn’t mean it like that, Sherlock!”

Sherlock ignores him.

“Sherlock?”

He still does not respond.

“Sherlock, love?”

John moves to a different tactic.

“Did you enjoy the sex last night?”

“What?” Sherlock asks, startled, as he turns his head back to look at John.

“Did you enjoy the sex we had last night?”

“Yes, of course I did! It was quite inspired. Surely you know I was most impressed, John.”

“Thank you. I do what I can,” he grins and then continues, “Do you know what made me… change the pace, as it were?”

“No…,” Sherlock answers.

“I looked up at you and I noticed that little, tiny bit of grey hair at your temples.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows go up.

“It’s true! Don’t ask me why, but I find it unbelievably sexy, love. It makes you look so distinguished, so handsome. Makes me want to shag your brains out, if I’m honest.”

“You’re joking,” Sherlock demurs.

“I’m as serious as I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

“So you don’t think its dreadful, then?”

“Quite the opposite, you vain, vain thing.”

Sherlock huffs.

“I’m still going to dye it,” Sherlock proclaims.

“That’s fine. It’s your hair. Do with it what you want. But I just want you to know that I think your grey hair is unbearably hot and you have nothing to be worried about.”

“Well… that’s kind of you, John. I… appreciate the sentiment. It will have no impact on my decision to dye my hair, of course, but it is appreciated none the less.”

John grins at him and give him a peck on the lips.

“Of course. I’d be glad to help you dye it if you’d like.”

“I think I would like your help, yes. Shall we do it now?”

“If you like."

“I do.”

“To the bathroom, then.”

_the end_


End file.
